Krampus

by Brom

  “Load up,” Krampus called and they did, all squeezing into the small sleigh. Krampus stepped up onto the front bench, stood a moment longer, scanning the flames and destruction. “It is good to be terrible,” he said and patted Santa’s head.

  “Away, Tanngnost! Away, Tanngrisni!” Krampus cried and the goats pulled the sleigh forward step by step, and all at once Jesse realized they were climbing skyward. He clutched tightly to the rail as the sleigh rose above the flames. They circled the inferno once and then headed out over the sea, the wind buffeting the small craft as the Yule goats picked up speed. They skimmed along the waves heading west, the bright moonlight glistening off the whitecaps below.

  “It is Yuletide!” Krampus bellowed. “It is time for the world to celebrate the return of the Yule Lord!”

  He set back his head and laughed and laughed as they chased the night across the Atlantic.

  PART III

  YULETIDE

  Chapter Twelve

  Yule Cheer

  Geri greeted them at the door. If a wolf could smile, Jesse felt sure this one was smiling now. Krampus hopped out of the sleigh, bounded over, and caught the wolf in a bear hug. “Happy Yuletide!” Krampus cried, and pranced into the church. He plucked up the sack, spun around in a circle. “We go! We go!”

  “What? Where?” Vernon asked, setting down the two sacks of sleeping sand. “Tonight? You can’t possibly mean tonight. Besides, Christmas is over for this season.”

  “We are not celebrating Christmas, you fool!” Krampus cried. “Christmas is dead! We are celebrating Yule. Yuletide runs for many weeks, and this year, it shall run as long as I deem necessary to spread my word.”

  The Shawnee glanced excitedly at one another, but Vernon moaned, plopped down into one of the pews. “I’m tired and I’m hungry.”

  Krampus made a sputtering, dismissive sound. “It is festive season, there will be food aplenty. Now, up with you. Take the sleeping sand and put a handful into pouches and bring them along.”

  “Pouches?” Vernon whined. “Where am I supposed to find pouches?”

  Wipi pulled out his knife and began hacking at one of the curtains. He cut out three pieces, folded them, and used part of the cords as ties. Within a few minutes, he’d made three pouches, handed them to Vernon.

  “Oh, don’t look so damn smug,” Vernon said, taking the bags.

  Isabel headed over to the injured wolf, Freki. A few well-gnawed cow bones lay near his bedding. Freki managed to get to his feet and greet her, standing unsteadily as Isabel ruffled his great mane. She appeared so tiny before the great beast that could so easily take off her head with one chomp. He nuzzled her hair as she poured more mead into his pie pan.

  “All right, enough delay, let us go.” Krampus sounded like a child wanting to open his birthday presents. “Come now. Out . . . all of you!” They headed for the door. “Wait!” he looked them over, frowning. He snatched a spear from Makwa, the handgun from Chet, tossed them into the cardboard box with the cash. “Other than your knives, there shall be no weapons, not on a Yule run.” The Shawnee didn’t look pleased with this at all, but all the Belsnickels dropped their weapons into the box.

  They followed Krampus outside, where the Yule Lord found a birch tree and commenced snapping off several long, thin branches until he had a handful. He pulled the satin ribbon from his hair and bound the twigs together. He swished them through the air, seemed pleased with the whistle, and gave Isabel a light swat on her rump. “Hey,” she yelled. “Cut it out!”

  Krampus laughed. “This will do. Will do just fine.”

  The Yule Lord took his place in the front of the sleigh, Isabel on the bench next to him, holding the sack and switches, Jesse beside her. Vernon, Chet, and the three Shawnee squeezed into the compartment in the back.

  Krampus lifted the reins, hesitated, his eyes fixed on Santa’s bloody head atop the spear. “You were a very naughty boy. You do not get to come along.” He snatched it up by the hair and chucked it. It rolled across the snow and bumped up against the fallen downspout, lying there on its cheek, its dead eyes staring back at them.

  “Away,” Krampus called and popped the reins. The goats leapt forward, climbing up over the treetops and into the clear night sky. They followed the valley north toward a cluster of lights, toward Goodhope.

  Jesse could see the occasional home or trailer not too far below, the headlights of cars going about their way. He thought of Abigail and Linda somewhere down there. He’d lost all sense of time and wondered if they were still awake, if everything was okay. He wanted to go to them now, ached to see them again, but knew there’d be no chance of it, not tonight, not while Krampus was in such a state.

  KRAMPUS DROPPED DOWN until they were skimming the tree line. He found a dead-end street on the edge of town with only a handful of homes, circled once, and landed, sliding to a stop beneath a leaning streetlight.

  Krampus hopped from the sleigh, looked around at the homes, at the blinking Christmas lights. He took a deep breath, appeared to drink in the cold night air. “I am finally here.” He closed his eyes. “At last . . . it is over. Baldr is no more and I am free to return to spreading Yuletide blessings, to chasing dark spirits from the land.” He opened his eyes, wiped them. “My apologies, the moment overwhelms me.” He looked at them. “You each played your part and for that I thank you. In your honor I shall make this a night to remember, that I promise.”

  Krampus held out his hand. “Vernon, the sleeping sand.” Vernon gave him the pouches. Krampus handed one to Isabel, one to Jesse, started to give one to Makwa, reconsidered and gave the last one back to Vernon. “In case we run into those that are not in a festive mood. A few grains dashed to the face will have them sleeping like babies. Now follow my lead, try not to bring harm upon any, ’less they threaten violence.”

  Jesse slipped the pouch into his front breast pocket for easy access.

  “Remember,” Krampus said. “We are here for the children, to teach them to honor the Yule Lord, to make them believe.” He started across the street toward the nearest house.

  “Wait,” Isabel said, and grabbed his arm.

  “What is it now?”

  “Not that one.”

  “Why not?”

  “They don’t have kids.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Look . . . no toys or bikes in the yard. No swing sets either. You want that one.” She pointed to the next house up, where a tricycle lay on its side next to a brightly colored plastic play gym.

  Krampus gave her a nod and patted her on the head. “Isabel, my little lion. You are full of surprises.” He headed for the house, the Belsnickels falling in line behind him.

  “Little lion,” Jesse snickered, and patted Isabel on the head. Isabel socked him.

  Krampus spied a large plastic Santa on the porch as they headed up the walkway. He sneered. “This home looks like it needs reminding of what Yuletide is truly about.” Krampus stepped up onto the porch, picked up the plastic Santa and chucked it out into the yard.

  “We’re gonna get shot,” Chet mumbled. And for once Jesse found himself in full agreement with the man. Jesse felt sure that before the night was over, one of them, or maybe all of them, would be lying on someone’s living-room floor full of buckshot. Jesse hardly knew a soul around this part of the county who didn’t own at least one gun—and three or four, more likely than not.

  Krampus knocked on the door. They stood and waited, Krampus with the black sack over his shoulder and clutching a handful of switches, the Belsnickels standing around him like a confused band of trick-or-treaters. Jesse could hear a television blaring from somewhere in the house and exchanged a worried glance with Isabel. Krampus knocked again, louder.

  A woman yelled from somewhere in the house, “The door, Joe. I think someone’s at the door!”

  The volume of the TV dropped. “What’s that?”

  “I thought I heard the door.”

  “Well, for crying out loud, yo
u done forgot how to answer a door?” There followed a long minute of silence. “Ah for fuck sakes,” the man cried. “All right, I guess I’ll get the goddamn door. Wouldn’t want you to ever have to get up off your fat ass.” They heard slippers clomping toward the door; a moment later, the porch light came on and the door popped open. A middle-aged man in a red flannel hunting shirt over a pair of gray sweatpants leaned against the door, holding a beer and a cigarette in one hand. The man was drunk, but not too drunk to see that Krampus wasn’t who he’d been expecting.

  “Are there any good children in this dwelling?” Krampus asked.

  The man’s eyes grew wide, he stumbled back several steps, losing both the beer and the cigarette. All at once he appeared to sober up and made to slam the door shut. Krampus extended his hand, knocked the door back and the man to the linoleum.

  “Yule cheer to one and all!” Krampus called and pushed in, stepping over the man and heading down the hall.

  The Shawnee pounced on the man, pinned him. The man started hollering and Makwa raised a fist. Isabel grabbed Makwa’s arm before he could land a blow. “No! Bad!” Isabel cried. “Stop it!” Jesse fumbled for his sleeping sand, but Vernon beat him to it, tossing a pinch of the sand into the man’s face. The man squinted, looked as though about to sneeze, then his head lolled over and he was out. The Shawnee appeared disappointed.

  Jesse managed to let out half a breath before a woman’s scream came down the hallway. Isabel and Jesse shoved their way past the Shawnee, intent on beating them to whatever trouble Krampus had got into now.

  It was a woman, about the same age as the man, wearing an almost identical outfit of a red flannel hunting shirt and sweatpants. Krampus had her trapped over in one corner of the room, behind the Christmas tree. The Yule Lord was plucking ornaments off the tree and smashing them into the fireplace. He held up a sparkling glass Santa. “No, no, no,” he scolded, and threw it at her. It smashed to pieces against the wall and she let out another cry. “No more Santa Claus. Ever! You want to know why?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Because he is dead!” he snarled. “I cut off his head and if you doubt me, why, I can show it to you. Would you like to see it?” The woman shook her head. Krampus spied the beautiful blown-glass cross sitting on the top of the tree and his face knotted up. “This will not do. You are not to put Christian totems on a Yule tree.” He plucked it off, shook it at her as though she might be a vampire. “No crosses! No Santas! Is that understood?” He raised his arm as though to throw it.

  “No!” she screamed, actually coming forward and reaching for it. “Please, no. That was my mother’s!”

  Krampus raised the ornament up beyond her reach.

  “Please, please.”

  “Only if you promise never to put it on my tree again.”

  The woman nodded adamantly.

  “Swear it.”

  “I swear it!”

  He held it out and she snatched it, clutched it to her breast, and began sobbing.

  “Where are the remains of your feast?” Krampus asked.

  She looked at him and blinked several times. “Feast?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean . . . the leftovers? They’re in the fridge. Where else would they be?”

  “And do you offer them in tribute?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Offer your fare to the Lord of Yule?”

  “You want my leftovers?” She appeared unsure whether to laugh or cry, but undoubtedly wanted to say whatever might send this demented demon away from her. “Sure . . . you go right ahead. Kitchen’s that way.” She pointed. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Good. Your Yuletide offerings will bring you many blessings for the coming year.” Krampus headed toward the kitchen, leaving the lady trembling in the corner, still clutching her mother’s ornament.

  Isabel and Jesse scooted over to the woman. “Sit down,” Isabel said.

  “What? Why? Are you gonna hurt me?”

  “No,” Isabel said. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Now, just sit.”

  The lady did and Isabel tossed a pinch of sleeping sand in her face. A few seconds later she was out. Isabel gingerly plucked the ornament from her arms and set it on the mantel.

  Something crashed in the kitchen.

  “What now?” Isabel asked.

  “He did promise us a night to remember.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m afraid he did at that.”

  The two of them peered into the kitchen. The refrigerator stood wide-open, Wipi was pulling dishes from the fridge and handing them to Nipi. A large ceramic tray sat on the counter, the tin foil peeled back, exposing a half-carved turkey on a bed of cornbread dressing. Makwa, Chet, and Vernon were shoveling handfuls into their mouths, not even bothering with utensils. Vernon glanced up, a guilty look upon his face. “What? I’m starving. Christ, we haven’t eaten since . . . what . . . yesterday, or was it the day before?”

  Jesse found a clock, it was ten till midnight. He tried to figure out how long they’d been up, but between the two continents he had no idea.

  “Where’s Krampus?” Isabel asked.

  “Went down the hall,” Chet said through a mouthful of dressing.

  “Down the hall?” Isabel said. “You let him out of your sight?”

  “Hey,” Chet said. “I sure as shit ain’t his babysitter.”

  They heard a scream, a child’s scream.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Isabel said and darted down the hall. Jesse took off after her.

  Krampus stood in the middle of the room between two beds. One bed was empty, two girls huddled together in the other. Jesse guessed one child to be nine or ten years old, the younger one about the same age as his Abigail. The girls were pressed into the corner, atop pillows and stuffed animals, as far from Krampus as they could get. Both were crying, clutching each other, trembling, their eyes full of terror.

  Krampus took a step forward, and the girls let loose a shrill scream, kicking their legs as though something was biting them.

  Jesse couldn’t stand it, could only think of his own daughter. “Krampus,” Jesse cried. “Stop, you can’t—”

  “Silence,” Krampus snapped, holding up one finger. “Do not interfere, that is a command.”

  Jesse quieted; found he could do little more than watch, no matter how much he ached to pull Krampus from the room.

  Krampus returned to the girls, knelt down upon one knee, and put his finger to his lips. “Hush,” he whispered. “Hush, I am Krampus, the spirit of Yule. I come bearing gifts.” His words were kindly, hypnotic. The girls stopped screaming, calmed a degree. “Would you like to see your gifts?”

  Neither of the girls answered, only stared at Krampus with wide, terrified eyes.

  Krampus set down the birch switches, slid the sack off his shoulder, closed his eyes, and stuck his hand inside the sack. He brought out two triangular gold coins, held them for the girls to see, and curiosity slowly replaced their fear.

  “Gold coin from the realm of Hel. These can buy you many pretty things.”

  The coins mesmerized the girls.

  “Would you like these?”

  Both girls nodded.

  Krampus held them out, but when the girls reached for them, Krampus pulled the coins back. “There is a condition. First you must speak my name. You can call me Krampus, the Yule Lord. Now, say my name.”

  “Krampus, the Yule Lord,” the girls chorused.

  Krampus smiled. “Good.” He handed them the coins.

  The girls admired their newfound treasures, and Jesse wondered what spell Krampus had set upon them.

  “There is more, for the world is a hard place and nothing comes without a price. You should know that each year upon Yuletide I will fly overhead. I might, or I might not return. But should I honor you with a visit, I do expect tribute to be waiting. I expect to find tokens of your devotion. Traditionally, this is done by placing your shoes upon the step and leaving me a treat or trinket within them. Do you think you can
do that?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Good, for if I find a treat, you might get another gold coin or something even better. But if I do not . . .” Krampus picked up the sack and the switches, stood to his full height, his voice dropping downlow and menacing. “If I do not find tribute then I will put you in my sack and beat you bloody.” He smacked the sack once soundly with the switches.

  The girls jumped back; Jesse thought they might start screaming again.

  “Will I find shoes full of treats next winter?”

  Both girls nodded adamantly.

  “Good. And what is my name?”

  “Krampus,” they said together.

  “Good.” He patted them atop their heads. “Good night, my little sugar plums. Sleep tight.” Krampus left the room.

  Isabel sprinkled them with sleeping sand and tucked them in. They looked like sleeping angels. Jesse wondered how much they would remember come morning. He hoped not much, hoped they wouldn’t wake up screaming every night.

  THEY CAUGHT UP with Krampus at the sleigh; Chet, Vernon, and the Shawnee already aboard. Wipi held the turkey carcass in his lap, he and his brother, Nipi, were still eating, their fingers and faces smeared with dressing and grease.

  “Onward to the next home,” Krampus said and climbed into the sleigh; Isabel and Jesse followed suit.

  “There’s more?” Vernon asked dryly. “Oh, but will the fun never end?”

  “Yes, more. Many, many more. Tanngnost and Tanngrisni shall take us from one neighborhood to the next, but it is not my goal to hit every dwelling. We need only visit the occasional home, as the children will do the rest. They shall spread the tale from there, will dazzle other children with their prizes and stories . . . will make them believe. And so long as they believe, so long as I have followers, Yule shall flourish, spread. My place will be affirmed and no god shall usurp my reign . . . not ever again.”

  He popped the reins and they took off, gliding down the middle of the street just above the car roofs, heading across town. They passed over a man sitting in his truck at a stop sign. The man watched them fly over, nodded at them, grinning the whole time, then drove on as though nothing had happened. A block later, a man and a woman leaned against a car. The man was trying to unlock the door but seemed too intoxicated to get the key in the lock. They looked up as the sleigh flew past, hollered something unintelligible, and both of them promptly fell over. Jesse wondered how many of these late-night boozers would blame what they’d seen on the drink come morning. Not much further along, a woman in a car slammed on her brakes as they barreled past. She stuck her head out the window, eyes wide in wonderment. It was apparent from her shocked expression that she wasn’t drunk, but maybe she wished she were. About a mile later, they cruised by a dozen or so teenagers tailgating in the old water tower parking lot. “Yule cheer to one and all!” Krampus yelled, and waved. About half the kids managed a partial wave, mouths agape, the rest just stared, too stunned to do anything else. A flash went off and Jesse grinned, wondered if their picture would be pasted all over the Internet come morning.